Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)

Henry turned to look Jeremy in the eye. “And to think,” he said, “for a moment there, I looked forward to calling you brother.”


Wincing, Jeremy leaned on the desk again. Lucy stared at him, her slippers fixed to the carpet, her voice muted by shock and anger and hurt. And somehow, this bitter silence between the three of them felt worse than an argument, more punishing than blows.

Finally, in a weak voice, Jeremy ended it. “I’m sorry, Lucy.”

Shaking her head slowly, Lucy backed away. “Like you said, Jeremy—it’s too late.”

She brushed past her brother’s outstretched hand and fled the room. But Jeremy’s words followed her down the corridor, echoing with every crack of heeled slipper on parquet.I’d undo it all if I could .

Lucy reeled to a halt, collapsing against the paneled wall.

They’d shared a night of unfettered passion. She’d discovered undreamt pleasure in his arms. And after the pleasure, a quiet, blissful peace. He’d made her feel desired and cherished and safe. Beautiful, for the first time in her life. He’d stroked every inch of her body, and he’d touched her heart.

And he’d undo it all if he could.

She rushed up the stairs to her room, slamming the door behind her. She pressed her hands flat against her belly, desperate to quell the sobs rising in her throat. She wouldnot cry.

He’d never claimed to love her, she reminded herself. He’d only said that he wanted her. And now he’d got her.Her , Lucy—an incorrigible hoyden with no title or connections or dowry worth noting. Not even a painted tea tray. He’d wanted her, and he’d had her, and now he had to marry her. Not for himself, but in case there was a child.

It was too late.

Oh, what a fool she had been! Teasing him all this time with kisses and retorts, chipping away at that cool veneer, thinking she discerned something hidden inside him. Something intriguing, irresistible. A fierce, fiery passion only she could bring to the surface.

Even worse, she’d imagined he discerned a secret side to her. Not the impertinent girl, but a woman with whom he wished to share his life. A lady, fit to wear silk and jewels. And, against all evidence to the contrary, some hidden quality that made her worthy of the title countess.

But he didn’t, because he didn’t love her. She loved him, and he didn’t love her. He’d undo it all if he could.

She wouldn’t.

Lucy drew a deep, deliberate breath. Despite the hollow despair spreading through her body, she knew she would do it all again. She’d become a brazen seductress, just as she’d planned from the start. She’d trapped herself a husband. He was hers now, and she’d be damned if she’d let him go.

And so, a half-hour later, she stood before the vicar in a borrowed dress and her mother’s earrings, uttering the phrases “I do,” and “until death us do part,” with weaker spirit than she typically ordered the curricle. Jeremy, his face drawn and pale, scarcely looked at her. Henry, standing behind him, refused to meet her eyes at all. The vicar, presumably grieved for his spotty son, maintained an attitude of pious melancholy as he mumbled his way through the rite.

When Jeremy took her hand and slid a thick gold band over her finger, Lucy felt all the blood rush from her head.Breathe , she ordered herself. She had never been the swooning sort, and this wasn’t the time to begin.

She inhaled deeply, drawing inspiration.I love him .

She exhaled slowly, her heart deflating.He doesn’t love me .

Back and forth, breath to breath, the tandem truths cycled through her for the remainder of the ceremony. Inhale; exhale.I love him; he doesn’t love me .

Then the vicar blessed their clasped hands, invoked the power of everything holy, and declared them man and wife. Jeremy’s hand tightened over hers by the slightest degree. Lucy glanced up and met his blue eyes for the briefest instant, and her litany was disrupted by the tiniest word.

I love him.

He doesn’t love me—

Yet.

Jeremy could scarcely look at her. Even pale and trembling and presumably angry as hell, Lucy still took his breath away. And breathing was difficult enough at the moment, with his gut still knotted around the impression of Henry’s fist.

How had this gone so horribly wrong? For the past two days, Jeremy had been telling himself he would make Lucy happy, protect her from Henry and Toby and other insensitive idiots. But now he realized that was a lie. The truth was, he’d been crazed with lust and spurred on by anger, and he hadn’t been thinking of her happiness at all. He’d insisted on their betrothal, insisted on this lightning-fast ceremony, never pausing to consider Lucy’s wishes. She’d come to him last night apprehensive and doubting, seeking comfort in physical pleasure. He’d known it. Hadn’t he spent years doing the same? He should have conquered his lust and sent her away. But he hadn’t, and now Lucy would pay the price.